


Guardian

by laulan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-05
Updated: 2010-11-05
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10017971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/laulan
Summary: AU from the events of the first movie, completely ignores Iron Man 2 canon. After Tony Stark reveals that he is Iron Man, Nick Fury assigns Captain America to be Tony Stark's bodyguard and train him to become part of the Avengers Initiative. Things get complicated when Cap almost takes a bullet for Tony and Tony gets captured by a rogue ex-military man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: non-graphic violence, mentions of domestic terrorism and bombing civilians, casual ableism, discussion of gun violence.
> 
> This was written for the Cap/Iron Man Reversebang in 2010, original notes as follows:  
> This is really not the fic I wanted to write; that one is much longer and sitting unfinished on my hard drive. Unfortunately, real life exploded on me, so this is a shorter version that plays with the same ideas. I definitely don't feel like manic_intent's lovely art justice, but I want to thank her for being so patient with me. She's awesomeee. ♥ And she doesn't have a separate art post, so make sure to leave her some love for her wonderful piece in the comments! (Seriously, you should just stare at the art instead of reading the fic. XD)

When Tony wakes up, he's sitting in a chair with his wrists tied behind his back, arms already aching. His head is pounding out waves of pain with each beat of his heart, and he's dizzy enough to be nauseated; he might have a concussion _,_ he realizes, wincing at the bright fluorescent light driving into his eyes. Fuck, he hates concussions. They make Pepper worry and Jarvis get snippy. _Steve_ , Tony thinks, suddenly, panic seizing him. _What'll Steve do?_  
  
"So you're awake," says a voice before he gets farther than that. Tony swings his head blearily towards its source. "Hello, Iron Man."  
  
Tony's tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth, but he forces it to move, licking his dry lips. "You have me at a disadvantage," he tells the figure before him, who's still not entirely in focus. "I don't know who you are."  
  
"It doesn't really matter who I am," says the other. He steps closer to Tony, and Tony sees that he's dressed in a beat-up military uniform. His stomach sinks, though he tries to keep it off his face. Uniforms are never good in a situation like this."What matters is what you're going to do for me, Stark," the stranger continues.  
  
"And what do you think that is?" Tony asks.  
  
His body's flooded with a familiar, paralyzing calm—the knowledge that he can't do anything to get out of this, and that he just has to sit and wait and keep his whole awareness focused on finding a way out. And he can't think that there won't be any way out, because if he does, he won't find any. If he loses hope, he'll die.  
  
It's a cheerful thought.  
  
He can feel his pulse knocking hard under the skin of his wrists, feel the cold sweat on the back of his neck. Feel the soles of his feet aching with the instinct to run—the rope burning lines into his arms. His head, roaring. He wants to get out of here, but he can't.  
  
The stranger smiles at Tony. It's such a normal smile, resting there gently on his face. Tony presses his lips together, making himself breathe deeply to keep his heart calm.  
  
"You're going to help me build an Iron Man suit," says the man, "a big Iron Man suit. As tall as a building."  
  
Tony sneers to cover the way his stomach drops. "And why do you think I'm going to do that? I don't even know if I could get the energy contained within a larger suit, anyway--" he lies.  
  
His captor smiles again, and knocks twice on the door behind him. "Well, I'm not going to give you a choice."  
  
_How cliché,_ thinks Tony, and, _God, he even has_ _**henchmen**_ _,_ when the door opens and two burly guys stride through. His thoughts are dulled by the head injury, so it takes him a minute to realize they're there to get him outside.   
  
"Easy, boys," he pants as they yank him up from the chair. He bites down over the waves of pain in his head and arms. "Don't get too excited."  
  
The leader laughs at that, a humorless breath through flat white teeth. "You never lose it, do you? Tony Stark, the infamous Iron Man—I thought it was all hype, but you really are that smart and charismatic, aren't you? Something to say for every occasion. No wonder the public likes you so much."  
  
There's something like admiration in his eyes. Tony stays silent, his insides knotting up with sick fury, and the guy laughs again, hand resting briefly on the wall to steady himself. "So righteous, though, now. I liked you better when you sold to whoever paid high enough. It seemed fairer."  
  
_Fuck you,_ Tony thinks, skull throbbing.   
  
They herd Tony out into a wider space—a hangar fitted with levels and walkways, he notes, craning his head up at the dark rafters. They're on the second floor. He tries to glance over his shoulder, but one of the goons prods him roughly with a meaty fist, so he stops, putting his head down to look like he's complying. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he spots a sign as they walk past: _United States Army, Restricted Area_.  
  
His blood goes cold. _Could the military be--?_ is the first thought in his head, but he discards it as quickly as it comes up. He's had talks with people in the army about sharing the plans to the suit, and he's given a firm no every time, even the time they sent Rhodey to try and convince him. It's something he'll never change his mind about, either. The suit is his. He feels like he can barely handle that responsibility as it is, sometimes—he doesn't want to think about how he'd feel is soldiers all over the world were using replicas to torch cities.  
  
The army doesn't seem to have gotten that yet, though; they haven't stopped trying to convince him. That's the key word, though, _convince_. While some people in the military might be ruthless enough to kidnap Tony and force him to replicate the suit, the cynical part of his brain tells him that it wouldn't happen nearly so soon. They haven't even made their best offer yet, only asked Tony to give up the secret "for the good of the country," and he thinks that they'd at least have offered him some money before wasting resources and risking lawsuits with a kidnapping.  
  
No. This guy has got to be working on his own. Tony's eyes trace over the worn edges of his uniform, and its worn appearance sinks in with new meaning: ex-military, clinging to the way things were. Tony closes his eyes, part of him too heavy with the tragedy of a world that chews people up and then spits them out like that, wrong or twisted somehow—but most of him buzzing with panic and pain and the conviction that he has to look even harder for a way out, now, because this man is dangerous.  
  
For a brief moment, he curses himself for not having superpowers. His suit's amazing, state-of-the-art and one-of-a-kind—but without it, he's just Tony Stark. Thanks to Steve, he's got hand-to-hand combat training, but other than that, he's pretty defenseless. _If only I could put my armor under my skin,_ he thinks bitterly, but he's jolted out of that thought when the group comes to a stop at the edge of a walkway.  
  
Tony's eyes widen, and he can feel his mouth dropping open a bit in shock at the sight before him. Stretching almost the full height of the hangar is a giant replica of his helmet. The red and gold paint are gleaming slickly under the flickering fluorescent lights, and it looks so unnatural at that size, monstrous. Tony's stomach curls with nausea. Down the length of the hangar, he can see the other pieces of the suit, the slice of the chestplate arching like a giant carapace, and the sharp spines of the fingers on the gauntlets. He feels the same way he did when he saw his weapons surrounding him in Afghanistan—like the world's biggest fuck-up. Everything he makes just turns to ash and evil.  
  
The man is smiling again. "You see, Stark?" His eyes are bright in the light from the head, blown wide with a sharp joy. "I've done a lot without you. Isn't it beautiful? But they don't call you a genius for nothing." He shrugs, laughs a little. Each time Tony hears it, it sounds worse, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a little more.  
  
"I can't put it together right," explains his captor, turning to face Tony, his mouth arranged in the shape of a self-deprecating grin. "I can't get the controls to be smooth, the parts to react to each other like a real body, like yours does. So that's where you come in." The bones of his face are highlighted by the eerie blue light. _I want to kill him,_ Tony thinks.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" he snarls, surprise burning into anger. He yanks at the ropes around his wrists until the henchman knock him back against the wall. "What the hell are you going to do with it?"  
  
"You wouldn't give the plans to the military," says the man. "So I had to go my own route. And you don't need to know what it's for—you just need to build it for me."  
  
Tony sets his jaw. "I won't," he says. The words are cold and heavy steel on his tongue. His hands are in fists without him realizing it, hot with the need to fight this.  
  
The man makes a vague noise, and turns to another one of his hired lackeys. "Let's take him to the back room and show him why he will."  
  
-  
  
The goons tighten his restraints and bind his ankles, then beat him up while the leader watches. _What a surprise,_ Tony thinks, gritting his teeth as another boot rams into his shin. "We don't want to incapacitate him," reminds the leader from the corner; Tony muffles a noise as the boot changes course and digs into the meat of his thigh instead. All you can do at times like this is close your eyes and try to hold on through it, so that's what Tony does. It's not the worst thing he's ever been through—hell, some of Steve's training sessions feel worse—but it's not good.  
  
When they leave the room—presumably to let him "think it over" —Tony's whole body aches, and his thoughts are spinning, faint, in his head. He thinks maybe one of the guys smacked his skull on the ground, but he can't quite remember. _Have to look for ways out,_ he reminds himself, but he can only manage a cursory glance over the room. It's bare concrete on all six walls, and the door is locked and watched by a guard, anyway; if he's going to get a chance to escape, it's probably not in here. So he pulls himself into a corner to rest for a while instead.  
  
His thoughts flick immediately back to Steve. He presses his lips together. In retrospect, storming off after arguing with him was probably the worst thing Tony could have done. But just because Fury had assigned Steve to be Tony's nominal bodyguard to hide the fact that he was training Tony didn't mean that Steve was allowed to—to try and _take bullets for Tony_ , for Christ's sake. Tony's still mad about that. Nothing happened, in the end, but it doesn't matter. Steve pushed Tony under him, and if the bullet had been better aimed, it would have gotten Steve in the shoulder, maybe even the heart—  
  
Tony squeezes his shut and takes a couple of deep breaths, willing the memory of the panic to subside. The thought of Steve bleeding out on him still makes him feel sick. And yes, it was irrational to yell at Steve afterwards, but Tony didn't know what else to do; his heart was still pounding ten thousand miles per hour and his brain still cycling through a series of graphic _what-ifs_ when they got back to Stark Tower, and Steve had just—made a joke about it, been so lighthearted, and Tony had snapped—  
  
He wonders, chest aching at the thought, if Steve believed what Tony said. He doesn't even remember what it was, but he knows it must have been bad. Tony's a real asshole when he argues; he's too good at it, and he always says the most vicious thing to win. Whatever it was, he knows it wasn't true. Tony's positive about that.  
  
_It's not my fault I'm so in love with you I go crazy when you get hurt,_ he thinks, opening his eyes to stare at the concrete ceiling. _Like anyone could help that._  
  
His stomach lurches at the thought of his feelings for Steve, as it always does. He twists his mouth up at himself. It's been a long time since he really fell in love, and it took him completely by surprise this time, the bright glow that suffused him whenever Steve smiled that sincere, from-the-heart smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. It makes him stupid, how much he loves Steve; he doesn't know what to do with it.  
  
So he yelled at Steve for not being careful enough when he tried to save Tony's life, then stormed off. And got captured, not even five minutes from his door.  
  
_Dammit,_ he thinks, leaning his head back against the wall. _Great strategy, Tony._  
  
He wonder if Steve is looking for him, if he's angry at whoever took Tony. Or if he's angry at Tony, instead. He scowls at the thought. It's nothing less than he deserves, but he hopes that's not the case. He doesn't want to die in this stupid hangar with Steve mad at him. That's the last thought he has before he passes out.  
  
-  
  
"Tony," a voice is urging. "Tony, c'mon, please—wake up, Tony, open your eyes—"  
  
Tony drags himself up into consciousness and forces his eyes open. "Hm?" he says.  
  
"Oh, thank God," says the voice— _Steve's_ voice, Tony realizes, eyes snapping open instantly. Steve's face, Steve's eyes wide and a little wild. Steve's arm gripping his shoulder tightly, his fingers digging into Tony's skin like he can hold him there.  
  
_I guess that answers my question,_ he thinks. "Steve," he whispers. His eyes burn with relief, and his heart flips over in his chest. He tries a smile.  
  
"Are you okay?" Steve demands, eyes locked on Tony's.  
  
"Been better," Tony says, flipping automatically into mission mode. "Most serious thing, maybe a concussion—rest's just bad bruises—"  
  
Steve's face hardens, his lips pressed together in an angry line. He brings a hand up to touch Tony's jaw—gently at first, like he doesn't want to spook Tony—then takes it and angles Tony's eyes into the light. Tony watches Steve's nostrils flare in anger, watches the deep breath he takes. "Jesus, I can't believe this. I am going to--" he shakes his head, cutting himself off abruptly. "Your pupils aren't dilating right; you're probably right about that concussion."  
  
"Usually am."  
  
"What am I doing just sitting here—we've got to move," Steve mutters, getting an arm around Tony's shoulders. "Rhodes is outside holding them off. Come on, Tony, we've got to get you out of here. Can you stand?"  
  
"Rhodey?" Tony asks, letting his head fall onto Steve's shoulder and tucking his forehead in against Steve's very convenient neck. He tries to make his legs push him up, but they don't seem to want to cooperate. "'s he gonna be okay out there? If someone sees him, might mean trouble with the Army--"  
  
"He's got your Mark II armor," Steve says, tugging Tony up a little more. "No one can see his face, it'll be fine. Can you make it if you lean on me?"  
  
"Think so," Tony grunts, gripping at Steve's shoulder. "Jesus—"  
  
"Easy, easy," Steve murmurs, moving them forward a little bit. His arm is curled around Tony's waist, warm and solid, and Tony has the brief thought that if this were any other situation, he'd be rejoicing at that. But it's here, and it's now, and he hasn't got time to concentrate on anything but going forward. He's reminded—forcefully, sickeningly—of that final trip down the hallway the first time he wore the suit, Yinsen dying at his feet. He leans harder against Steve to banish the image, biting his lip.  
  
They make their way slowly through the labyrinth of walkways, heading toward the sounds of explosions. They almost make it; they're in the doorway when they're ambushed from behind.  
  
"Tony, _move_ ," urges Steve, shoving Tony in front of him with enough force to make him stumble and fall into the wall, his head whirling so fiercely he almost vomits. But he forces it back down, and when he catches his breath again, he can hear a threatening click behind him.  
  
He turns as fast as he can, and his heart freezes at what he sees: the barrel of a gun kissing Steve's throat, and four other guys holding Steve down.  
  
_He's not even dressed right_ , Tony realizes for the first time. Steve is wearing a dress uniform, not his Captain America suit. He doesn't even have his _shield_. He's helpless. Tony pushes away the fear that follows that thought and inches forward.  
  
"Don't move, Stark!" says the man from before. "I'll shoot, if you do."  
  
Tony feels something deep ignite down under his bones. _I'm going to do something crazy,_ he thinks calmly. It's not even a choice: Steve is going to get hurt, if he doesn't, and Tony point-blank _refuses_ to let that happen.  
  
"Stark!" calls out Rhodey before Tony get any further than that. When Tony glances at him out of the corner of his eye, Rhodey's slides something along the floor his way. Tony watches the streak of red arc over the floor and reaches out instinctively; his fingers wrap hard around what turns out to be one of the gauntlets from his suit.  
  
_What?_ Tony thinks, but by the time the thought is finished, the rest of his brain's catching up and he's pulling the gauntlet on.  
  
"Part two coming up!" Rhodey yells, and Tony leans out to snag the second gauntlet.  
  
"Thanks," he yells back. Adrenaline is pumping through his body, now, clearing the fog in his brain and letting him think. His neurons are snapping into place, burning commands sharp as lightning through his body, and he rises smoothly to his feet, plan already forming in his mind. "Don't put that on or I'll shoot!" shouts the man with the gun, but it's already too late; Tony's sliding the other gauntlet on and clicking them both shut. The noise of them powering up is as familiar as his own voice, by now.  
  
He takes out the man with his gun at Steve's throat first, using a directed pulse of superbright light to blind him momentarily. He gets the three men holding him down, too, though he knows Steve could handle them. It gives him a sense of vicious satisfaction to hear their guns clatter to the floor and hear them moaning in pain.

"How're you doing over there?" he calls back to Rhodey as he jogs over to Steve.  
  
"Could use a little help," Rhodey yells, shooting off a rain of bullets at their attackers.   
  
"Can you hold it for five minutes?"  
  
"Two, _maybe_!"  
  
"That'll work!" Tony stop in front of Steve. "They didn't--"  
  
"No, I'm fine," Steve grunts, "it was just the gun." He glares at the men on the floor and reaches down to snag one of the guns. "What's the plan?"  
  
"Back to the suit," Tony says.  
  
"Great," Steve sighs, but he puts his arm around Tony's waist and they hurry back down the hallway, explosions rising behind them.   
  
When they get to the helmet, Tony feels the same revulsion rising in him from before, and it spurs him on; he pulls the gauntlets off and twists a series of wires inside them quickly, tangling them together. When he hears their hum stutter, he reaches back as far as he can and hurls them down into the body of the hangar.  
  
"Okay, now we have to run," he tells Steve. "Those are going to explode pretty soon--"  
  
Then there's a flare of pain over his skull, and nothing else.  
  
-  
  
When he wakes up, Tony knows he's in a hospital because of the sounds. Clean linoleum floors, whirring A/C, faint machine beeps. He winces at the dull stab in his head, and reaches a clumsy hand to touch the bandages on his head. _Fantastic,_ he thinks, grimacing. When he notices Steve and Fury standing by the end of his bed, he manages a grin at them.  
  
A nurse gives him a checkup while they wait by his bed. Tony tries not to let himself look at Steve too much, but he can't help the relief coursing through him at the thought that he made it out unharmed.  
  
Fury tells him the name of his kidnapper: Ray Denver. Age 28, discharged from the Army six months ago and missing ever since.  
  
"It was a revenge thing," Fury says, blowing out a sigh that shakes his shoulders. "He was going home for a month of leave—as I understand it, his wife and little girl were coming to meet him in San Francisco, but they were killed in the Embarcadero bombing on their way there. Denver didn't find out till he got off the plane."  
  
Tony winces. He remembers that bombing—everyone does. There were too many civilian faces blurred together on the news that night to forget. Kids, thirty-six of them on a field trip, to start with. Tony didn't sleep that week for nightmares, and he knows he's not the only one.  
  
"He went batshit," Fury explains, mouth tight. "Plain fucking batshit. He trashed the office of the therapist they sent him to, he blasted bulletholes in the walls during target practice. Before his discharge, he threatened to cut a guy's eyes out. After the discharge, he disappeared off the grid—when a couple of months had passed, we thought maybe he must've killed himself, though we hadn't stopped looking, yet. Then he up and kidnaps you, out of nowhere."  
  
Fury rubs a hands over his mouth, his face troubled. "We've been talking with a couple of the operatives that survived—they say he wanted to take this giant Iron Man suit across the Atlantic and 'trash the terrorist countries for good'."  
  
Tony blinks. "But the Embarcadero bombing—the bomber turned out to be American, didn't he?"  
  
Fury nods, his head hung low between his shoulders. Tony can read his anger in the tense lines of his body. "Like I said, Denver went crazy. He couldn't reason it out any. He just—he wanted someone to pay. And that was the way he thought to do it. I'm so sorry, Stark. On behalf of all of us."  
  
"Wow," Tony says.  
  
A small part of him feels for Denver. He knows the kind of crushing pain he must have been struggling with. But mostly what he feels is overwhelming relief, leaving his joints loose and his body tired. He thinks maybe the reality of this all will catch up with him later, but for now, he's too exhausted.  
  
"Well. I'm sorry I took out your hangar," Tony says lightly.  
  
Fury snorts and raises his head. "Like fuck you are. I got your number, Stark. You'd be happier if you'd taken out two." He leans back and gives Tony a genuine smile. "It's okay. You'll make it up to me with the Avengers, won't you? You owe me."  
  
Tony laughs. Fury's visible eye is gleaming with amusement, too. "We'll talk when I'm not in a hospital bed," Tony tells him, but he thinks he knows what the answer is.  
  
"Yeah," Fury says. "Listen, Stark—I'm sorry. You know the military would never--"  
  
"It's not your fault," says Tony, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it."  
  
"Hello?" comes a voice from the door.  
  
"Rhodey?" Tony says, smiling. Rhodey stands in the doorway and grins at him, eyes full of relief.  
  
"Can I come in, or do you need a few minutes, Colonel?" he asks Fury.  
  
"I'm done," says Fury. He stands and gives Tony a firm nod. "I'll come again soon, Stark. Rest up, you asshole. Cap, take care of yourself." He squeezes Steve's shoulder as he strides out of the room.  
  
Rhodey comes to sit in the chair by the bed, and Tony shifts his focus to concentrate on that. He starts out by asking if Rhodey's all right--"they didn't hurt you, too, did they?" he asks, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Nah," Rhodey tells him, "couple bruises from the suit, but other than that, I can't complain. Man, that thing is _amazing_ , though--"  
  
He launches into a description of his side of the battle, which Tony listens to with interest; he barely remembers it. "Thanks, Rhodey," Tony says afterward, looking into Rhodey's eyes and hoping his own convey even a small measure of his gratefulness.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Tony."  
  
"You should have seen him when we got there," Cap says, smiling a little. "Blasting that hangar open like it was nothing. He looked like some kind of war machine."  
  
"War machine!" Rhodey says. A grin blooms on his face, and his eyes sparkle. "I like that. I think I'm going to use that as a name. If--" he raises his eyebrows at Tony in question-- "that's--can keep the armor? Since you're not using it?"  
  
Tony laughs at the look of boyish hope on his face. "Rhodey, I owe you way more than a suit of armor," he says, shaking his head and thinking of all the times Rhodey's pulled his ass out of disaster. Jesus. "I owe you a goddamn mansion after all these years. Two mansions. Two _hundred_ mansions. A suit of armor's nothing next to that. It's all yours, War Machine. As long as it stays with _you_ and not the Army. "  
  
Rhodey beams, his eyes lighting. "Man! Thanks, Tony. I promise you won't regret it!"  
  
"At least not till you knock over Stark Tower during target practice," Tony deadpans.  
  
"Damn, it's no fun if you figure out my evil plan before I even start," Rhodey fires back, snapping his fingers with false anger. They grin at each other, and Tony feels some of the weight of the whole experience lifting dissipating.  
  
They talk for a few more minutes; easy things, like the weather and how seamlessly Pepper's doing at being acting CEO. (Tony's thinking he'll promote her for sure. While she's definitely the best personal assistant he could have ever hoped for, he thinks she'll be even better at helping him run the company. She basically already does that, anyway.) Tony's completely shocked to find himself breaking into a yawn in the middle of the conversation—Rhodey laughs and calls him an old man, but he gets up to leave despite Tony's protests.  
  
"I'll come back tomorrow—I'll bring Pepper," says Rhodey. "Bye, guys."  
  
Then it's just him and Steve. Tony turns, stomach jumping, to say something—who knows what—to Steve, but Steve beats him to action, standing stiffly to fluff Tony's pillows. It's so absurd that Tony has to bite his lip not to laugh.  
  
"Thanks, but I'm not going to go to sleep yet," he tells Steve, smiling a little.  
  
Steve presses his lips together and looks Tony straight in the eye, clearly exasperated. "Tony, you need your rest."  
  
"I'm not that tired," Tony insists. "I don't even know why I yawned. I swear, I'm fine."  
  
"Then do it to make me feel better," Steve orders, eyes not leaving Tony's. "Just lie back and close your eyes for a while, and if you're not asleep in ten minutes, fine. But you need all the sleep you can get."  
  
Tony grimaces. _Low blow,_ he thinks, smoothing the hospital sheet out. "I--" he starts, but he's got nowhere to go with it, so he closes his mouth and settles down into the pillows, swallowing down a wave of hot uncertainty. Where do he and Steve stand with each other, now, he wonders? Back in the hangar, he touched Tony's face—but now he's closed off and tight. Tony doesn't know if it's because of how he acted or something else, and he resolves to ask Steve. Embarrassingly, he falls asleep before he gets a chance. The opportunity doesn't come up again.  
  
-  
  
Tony gets official permission to go home for his recovery period a few days later, after Fury bullies the hospital director in a spectacular argument they can hear three rooms away--"He's _Tony Stark_ , you idiot, you think he can't afford the best home care in the country? You just wanna keep him here 'cause he's _Iron Man_ , don't you, think it'll get you a lot of publicitiy--" Tony had had to muffle his laughter in his pillow at that point, and he even caught a smile on Steve's face, which has been rare these past couple of days.  
  
If Tony's honest, that's bothering more than the faint lingering aches of his bruises or any of the rest of it.  He feels so off-balance with Steve acting distant. There's this great gulf of quiet between them, and he keeps wanting to fill it up with words, but he's got no idea what to say to fix it.  
  
So he's not expecting Steve to be so insistent about helping Tony get settled in back in his bedroom. Steve makes sure he has water and practically orders Tony to bed, then brings him his cell phone and extra blankets and some Advil. He even helps him take off his shirt to avoid jostling Tony's bruises, which is a cruel test of Tony's self control. When that's done, he plants himself in a chair he brought up with a final air, set beside Tony's bed.  
  
He looks exhausted: grey shadows under his eyes, and a slant to his shoulders that says he's been up much longer than he should have been. Tony clears his throat meaningfully, waiting till he's got Steve's undivided attention to speak.  
  
"I think you're off duty now," he tells Steve. "You can go sleep. Rest. Relax." He waves his hands. "You know, whatever the living embodiment of our country's ideals does on his off hours. Jarvis can help me get anything I need." He feels guilty keeping Steve up here, clearly feeling bound by duty, when there's something off between them. Until Tony can fix it, he doesn't want Steve to feel like he _has_ to be there.  
  
Steve makes a noise, this scornful puff of air. "If you think I'm leaving you alone after what happened, _Iron Man_ , you're out of your mind." He leans back, expression flat as stone, and crosses his arms.  
  
Tony frowns, leaning back against the pillows. "You're not blaming yourself, are you?" he asks, honestly surprised. That Steve could be blaming himself for any part of Tony's spectacular tantrum—there really isn't a better word for it—hadn't even occurred to him.  
  
He's shocked by the sound of Steve's laughter slicing through the air. "As if it wasn't my fault you got kidnapped in the first place, Tony? I'll be damned if I'm going to mess it up again, I'm not letting you out of my sight."  
  
Tony's mouth falls open. _Steve swore,_ he thinks, incredibly, first. It's such a small thing, such a tiny detail, and it's not like Steve never gets angry or upset, but Tony's not sure if he's ever actually heard him swear. Then Steve's words sink into his brain, and guilt hits him hard in the gut.  
  
"Steve," he starts, "don't even—how can you—I threw what basically amounts to a fit!" he bursts out. "Because you pushed me out of the way of a bullet. Come on. I was an asshole, Steve. I mean, I still don't agree with you taking a bullet for me, let it be stated for the record, but I shouldn't have yelled at you about it. At all."  
  
He winces at the sudden, sharp memory of what exactly he said, and catches Steve's arm with his hand. "And look, that thing I said, about you not belonging here? I was _lying_ ," he tells Steve, leaning forward, suddenly struck with the intense need to make sure Steve knows that. "You know I don't think that, don't you?" He swallows. "If you were still frozen in that ice, I—I don't know, Steve, I don't know what would've happened to me. I'd probably, I don't know, be a crazy alcoholic or something."  
  
Steve's mouth softens, and Tony can actually see some of the tension leave his shoulders, which just makes him feel even more horrible for having put it there in the first place. "I'm sure you wouldn't be," says Steve.  
  
"I definitely would be," Tony insists.  
  
Steve smiles a little at that, but it's short-lived, his eyebrows meeting anxiously. "I got you kidnapped," he tells Tony.  
  
"No, _I_ got me kidnapped. Because I was an idiot."  
  
"I shouldn't have let you go," Steve tries again.  
  
"I shouldn't have gone in the first place," Tony corrects him. "Come on Steve. You're only human. Have you seriously been beating yourself up about this this whole time? Is that why you--" why you've been so strange these past few days, he almost says, but catches himself.  
  
"I just--" Steve closes his eyes, face marred with an awful frown Tony yearns to smooth out. He squeezes Steve's arm again, a little helplessly, and his stomach drops when he sees Steve wince.  
  
_Fuck, he figured it out,_ he has time to think, but before the panic can really sink in, Steve says, "I have to tell you something, Tony."  
  
"What is it?" Tony asks, forcing his voice even.  
  
Steve mashes a hand over his face. "You might not want to work with me after this," he says. "I'll understand." His voice sounds like he's squeezing the words out of his throat against his will.  
  
Tony stares at him. There's not a single thing in the world he can think of that Steve would do that would make him want to stop working with Steve. "Try me," he says, voice soft. He leaves his hand on Steve's arm, not having the will to pull back.  
  
Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly, audibly. "You know that gun I picked up off that guy, when we were in the hangar?"  
  
Tony blinks at the non sequitur. "Yeah?"  
  
Steve clasps his hands in his lap, rubbing his fingers together like he does when he's nervous. "And you know what I told you when Fury first assigned me to be your bodyguard because of your whole Iron Man revelation? So I could train you and keep you in check while you learned the ropes?" he asks.  
  
"And groom me for his pet project, yes," Tony says. "Yeah. You told me that you weren't a killer, so I'd better not get myself into too much trouble." A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. Steve—back when he'd still been Captain America, not even "Cap" to Tony—had said it lightly, punctuating it with a teasing smile that startled Tony into a laugh. He hadn't thought Captain America would have a sense of humor at the time. But even with the lighthearted twist, Tony had known that Steve was serious about the killing part.  
  
"What does that have to do with yesterday?" he asks.  
  
Steve closes his eyes. "I think I would have shot someone if they'd been in our way, Tony," he says, quietly.  
  
Tony reels back a little, eyes going wide. "But--" he says, and gets stuck there. He can't think of anything better to say. In all the missions they've gone on together since, Tony's never once seen him seriously try to hurt somebody. Not once. He always goes for the knock-out. It's one of their key differences; Tony will hurt someone if he has to, and most of the time he won't regret it. The very idea of Steve using a gun is hard for Tony to wrap his head around. Holding for intimidation, sure, but using?  
  
"Yeah," Steve laughs, humorlessly. "I know."  
  
"But—why then?" Tony asks, struck dumb. His heart is racing without him quite knowing why, some crazy hope clawing its way up into his throat. "Steve, what... ?"  
  
"Because it was _you_ , Tony," Steve says, meeting Tony's eyes. "Because it was you that they had in there. And you were all—bruised and out of it and--" he breaks off, shaking his head. Tony watches his hand curl into a white-knuckled fist on the bedspread. "And I wanted to get you out of there. I wasn't even thinking about anything else. It was just—I would have done whatever it took."  
  
Tony opens his mouth slowly, hardly daring to believe what he's hearing. "What are you trying to say, Steve?" he manages, finally.  
  
"I have feelings for you, Tony," Steve says, dropping his eyes to rest on the bed. He draws in a long breath. "Romantic feelings. There, I've said it, and it's done. I can't keep it quiet anymore or pretend it's not happening--I'm sorry, I had to tell you. It's been driving me crazy these past few days."  
  
He looks miserable, sitting there: his shoulders hunched up like he's bracing himself and his eyes full of shame. Tony knows he should say something first, not just go for a kiss, but he wants to wipe that look off Steve's face as fast as possible.  
  
And Tony is a selfish bastard when it comes to some things. So he leans forward without thinking and takes what he wants, sliding his mouth over Steve's before Steve can say anything else. He curls a hand around the curve of Steve's neck to angle him better and just to hold him close. Their lips are pressed together, and even if there aren't actually fireworks blooming behind Tony's closed eyes, his blood is racing and his nerves are singing and it's _Steve_ he's kissing. That makes it all so much better.  
  
Steve surges forward, suddenly, pinning Tony's back against the headboard and licking into his mouth, hot and slick and a little bit desperate. Something inside Tony blazes up bright and shocked, and he opens himself up to meet Steve fully, pulling him closer until there's not a breath of space between them. They kiss like that for long minutes, stopping only when Steve pulls back, looking bewildered.  
  
"Tony, what--?" he asks. The way his mouth looks is so arousing it's insane; Tony finds himself leaning forward to take another quick kiss, biting at Steve's lower lip as he pulls away.  
  
"You have feelings for me?" he asks. Steve nods slowly, and Tony grins up at him, letting all the fierce joy rioting in him show through it. "Well, they're mutual."  
  
"They are?"  
  
Tony has to laugh at the open expression of astonishment on Steve's face. "Why do you think I freaked out so much over the bullet in the first place?" he asks.  
  
"Oh," Steve says. Happiness washes over his face, and it's like sunlight; Tony just has to kiss him again, because he's so beautiful Tony can't stand it.  
  
"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Tony asks. "These past couple of days, I kind of thought you hated me or something."  
  
"Why didn't you say something?" Steve counters, which, fair point. "I didn't want to mess anything up. And I didn't, I mean--it's not just us at stake here, Tony," Steve murmurs, lips at the edge of Tony's jaw. "We're not just--" he trails off, pressing a light kiss to the tip of Tony's ear, his hand curling tighter into Tony's side. "We're not just regular guys. If we went for it--"his voice soft, "and people found out, then someone could take advantage of it—I wasn't sure it was the best idea. I'm still not. The thought of someone using you to get to me, or vice versa--"  
  
Tony swallows. "So what," he says, "so what, so what. Steve, we're superheroes, not monks." He's babbling and he knows it, brain working doubletime to come up with reasons why Steve should stay--and Steve should stay, that much Tony's sure of. Steve should stay right here. Tony strokes his fingers over the short hair at the nape of Steve's neck, his heart in his throat, and has a brief, wild thought about building a space shuttle just so he and Steve can get away from all this, somewhere where Tony can have Steve all to himself.  
  
But that's not who Steve is, he thinks, fond wash of realization brushing over him. Steve--the big idiot--would rather be right in the middle of things, helping people, no matter what the personal cost. And so would Tony, if he's being honest with himself. Maybe for different reasons—he's got a lot to make up for where Steve doesn't—but he'd be right there at his side. _Aren't we a pair?_ he thinks.  
  
He blows out a breath, looking up at Steve. "We need something to live for, too, you know. Something closer to fight for," he says. He thumbs one of the dark circles under Steve's eyes. "These've got to be worth getting." A beat of silence. "And besides, I think we deserve it."  
  
Steve just looks at him. Tony's heart turns in his chest; that's always been one of the things he loves most about Steve. The way he just _feels_ things, and doesn't bother trying to hide them. Right now, Tony reads hope in his eyes, so he takes another little chance, and kisses Steve again.  
  
"Come on," he whispers against Steve's mouth.  
  
Steve lets out a little sigh and gives Tony a soft little smile. "Okay. All right." He laughs, his bright smile flashing.  
  
"And to think, I only had to get myself kidnapped to get you to notice me," Tony says.  
  
"You jerk," Steve breathes, laughing, "do you have _any_ idea how worried I was when you--"  
  
"I'm sorry," Tony murmurs, guilt flashing hot through his body, because he can hear the edge of awful relief in Steve's voice. He takes Steve's face in his hands and stares into his eyes, willing everything he's feeling to zing across the lines between them. He wants Steve to understand so badly how much this is unfamiliar territory for him. "I'm sorry, Steve. I'll try not to be such an idiot next time."  
  
Steve's eyes soften at the edges, and he leans down to give Tony a deep, intense kiss that leaves Tony panting, wondering if his bones have melted away in the heat of it. "Don't promise that," he tells Tony, smiling a little, "I know you too well."  
  
Tony laughs, breathless, as Steve kisses his way down Tony's neck. "Ouch," he says. "Very harsh, Captain America." He presses his head back into the pillows, catching his breath when Steve grazes his collarbone with teeth.  
  
"Don't call me that, not now," he says, breath blowing hot little streaks over Tony's skin.  
  
"Steve," Tony whispers. "Hey, is this the part where I tell you that it doesn't matter what I call you, because you'll always be the _captain_ of my heart?" he teases. He feels so giddy, all lit up on the inside. Like someone's put a whole row of arc reactors down his spine, and they're all humming away at full.  
  
"Is this the part where I tell you you're a heartless bastard, but I can't stay away?" Steve replies back, tapping Tony's lit chest with a grin.  
  
He strokes his thumb over the arc reactor, the sharp lines of his face bathed in its pale blue glow. Tony feels a huge rush of affection for him, suddenly--Steve, his friend and his partner and his hero. Steve, one of the best people Tony's ever known, and he's someone who makes _Tony_ a better person, in spite of everything that's wrong about Tony. He puts his hand out to touch Steve's cheek, marveling at all the chances that had to go right to get them to this moment.  
  
"Come here," he says, tugging Steve up into another kiss.  
  
It heats up fast from there, their tongues tangling slickly together and hands going everywhere. Steve pushes Tony's shirt up like he's on a mission, and rests his big warm hands on Tony's back, pressing his thumbs over the points of Tony's spine. In retaliation, Tony gets a leg between Steve's, shoving close.  
  
Steve makes a noise, and Tony feels a wicked grin curl up on his face; he slides his hands down to curve over Steve's ass and drags him even closer, pressing his thigh hard up against Steve's groin. "Hey, no fair," Steve breathes, screwing his eyes shut.  
  
"You're the one who's supposed to be fair, not me," Tony reminds him.  
  
"I'm going to get in trouble with the doctor if I mess up your bruises," Steve pants.  
  
"Fuck it, come on, you asshole," Tony growls—and because he plays dirty, not fair, he follows that up with a torturously slow stroke over the bulge in Steve's jeans.  
  
Steve groans, dropping his head to rest on Tony's chest. "Jesus, Tony. You're going to kill me. Okay. But nothing too—nothing too strenuous--"  
  
"Steve, if you don't put your hands on me in the next two seconds, I'm going to get Jarvis to kill you in your sleep," Tony says. He smacks the flat of his palm into Steve's shoulder for emphasis, because for all that he loves Steve—but that thought is too exhilirating to ignore, because it comes with the knowledge he's _allowed_ to love Steve, now.  
  
"Bossy," Steve mutters, fingers tugging at the drawstring on Tony's sweatpants and slipping inside to stroke over his dick.  
  
Tony muffles a noise and arches up into Steve's touch, spreading his legs a little shamelessly. Steve kisses him again, these deep, slow things to match the agonizingly good even pulls. In reply, Tony scrabbles for the button on Steve's jeans and yanks the zipper down, sliding his hand inside to curl around Steve. Steve hisses out a breath and tightens his grip. Tony smirks, and drags his fingers over the head. "Take these off," he orders, pulling at the jeans with his other hand. "And your shirt."  
  
"You too, then," says Steve, tossing his jeans on the floor.  
  
Tony complies quickly, and they're back together in a moment, picking up right where they left off.

In all the times he imagined this, he never thought about how it would feel to have Steve's body pressing his own down into the mattress, steady weight pinning him completely. He never thought about Steve's miles and miles of warm, bare skin and his smell and his heartbeat right up against his own, never thought about how good it would be, how it would make his toes curl and his blood simmer.  
  
It doesn't take either of them very long, from there; Tony comes first, muffling his groan in Steve's neck, and Steve follows a few moments after. He kisses Tony clumsily, afterward, and Tony has to hide his smile.  
  
"So," he says.  
  
"So," Steve says back, smiling a little.  
  
"I can't say I expected that," Tony admits, laughing.  
  
"Me neither. I sort of expected to be headed back to S.H.I.E.L.D. right now, thinking up something to tell Colonel Fury about why you'd thrown me out."  
  
"God," Tony says, "no. If you'd had any idea how many times I've had to restrain myself from pushing you up against a wall... "  
  
"You," Steve scoffs. "God, Tony, do you have any idea how attractive you are, and how difficult it is to try and ignore that?"  
  
Tony smirks. "I've got an idea," he purrs.  
  
Steve lets out a burst of laughter. "I should've expected a response like that from you."  
  
"You really should've," Tony agrees. He slides over to lay some lazy kisses down Steve's beautiful shoulder, just because he can now. "God, you are gorgeous and you're all mine. I should go buy lottery tickets, I'm clearly on a lucky steak."  
  
"I don't know how lucky getting kidnapped is," Steve counters. His forehead creases, and he splays a hand over Tony's stomach, pressing down gently on one of Tony's hipbones. "God, Tony. I'm so glad that's over."  
  
"Same," Tony says. His mouth curves in a smile. "I can't believe you had to carry me out of there." A choice detail Rhodey revealed when he told his side of the story. "That's embarrassing."  
  
"Like a damsel in distress," Steve agrees, petting over Tony's hair.  
  
"My hero," Tony says, rolling his eyes. If it's a little bit true, that's no one's business but his own.   
  
They slip under the covers together after Tony insists that Steve stay, and settle down after spending some time finding a comfortable position for  Tony to sleep in. Lying in the darkness, Tony has a thought.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What do you think of Captain America and Iron Man being partners? A team." Tony clears his throat. "Officially, I mean. For good."  
  
Steve kisses the back of Tony's neck, and Tony can feel his teeth where Steve can't suppress his smile. The hand he slips into Tony's is solid as an anchor. "Thought you'd never ask."  
  
-  
  
Tony wakes up around six in the morning, according to his internal clock. Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut again, but he knows already that it's not going to work. Once you're awake, you're awake. A sigh drags itself from his throat. He forces himself to stretch, arms out, and starts when his left hand hits something warm and solid.  
  
The memory of last night lights up in his mind, then, and Tony finds his mouth curving upward in a huge grin. Suddenly full of energy, he turns on his side to look at Steve, who's lying there sleeping beside him. It's still pretty dark inside, but Tony can make out the reassuring shape of Steve's face, the soft lines of his eyelashes on his cheeks. His smile widens.  
  
"Jarvis?" he says out loud, his voice still heavy with sleep. "Can you get me Pepper?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
There's a scrabbling noise, and then Pepper's voice pinging over the line. "Yes?" She sounds half asleep, too.  
  
"Good morning," he says. He can tell the smile's carrying over into his voice. No surprise—it feels like it's branded on his atoms. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."  
  
"No, I'm just on my first cup of coffee. Sorry. What's up?"  
  
"Can you reschedule all my appointments this week?" Tony asks, stretching out his hand for his cell phone, so he can switch the call and doesn't wake Steve. "Shunt them off later in the month?"  
  
There's a pause. "Are you—are you not feeling well, Tony?" Pepper asks anxiously. "Fury told me to send you back to the hospital immediately if anything went wrong—"  
  
"No, no, I'm great," Tony hastens to assure her. "I'm fantastic. Never been better, Pep, I promise."  
  
"Don't think I won't get you there somehow if you're lying, Tony--"  
  
"I promise," Tony says again. "I just want to take the week off." He clears his throat, face heating up. "Steve and I... "  
  
There's an indrawn breath like a shot on the other side of the line. "Did you--?" Pepper breathes. She was the only one Tony had told any of the story to, at least before last night.  
  
"Yeah, I told him," Tony says, breaking into a grin. "Or, he told me, then I told him."  
  
"Oh, Tony!" Her voice is bright with joy, and he can just tell she's smiling. "Oh, Tony. That's great."  
  
"Thanks." His face is starting to hurt from that stupid smile, but he can't really bring himself to mind.  
  
"And I think that maybe you're still not feeling well," she announces. "I think maybe you still need bedrest, and the doctor ordered you no phone calls or vid conferences because of your head injury. I'm _sure_ everyone will understand, doctor's orders."  
  
He can hear her clacking away at the keyboard, and he chuckles. "I'll say again, please never become a supervillain, because the world would be toast."  
  
"I'll do my best. Oh—there's the meeting with the Board on Wednesday. You probably don't want to skip that... "  
  
Tony sighs. "You're right. Okay, that one can stay. But the rest?"  
  
"I'll clear them out."  
  
"You're the best," he says, and means it. "And hey, Pepper. You take the week off too, okay? God knows you deserve it." He clears his throat. "I can send you and Happy somewhere on the jet, if you want."  
  
She laughs. "I think that might be nice," Pepper tells him, her voice warm.  
  
"Good," Tony says, feeling it right down to his bones. "Excellent. All right, I'll let you get back to your coffee."  
  
"Hey, Tony, before I go."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You sound really happy," says Pepper.  
  
"I am," Tony says.  
  
"Well, good. Let's keep it up, huh? I like sane Tony better than brooding Tony," she teases, and then hangs up before he has a chance to retort. Tony's left biting down a laugh and shaking his head fondly. Good old Pepper. She's always ten steps ahead of him.  
  
He sets the phone back on the bedside table, and turns to look at Steve's shadow in the darkness again. "Lights, ten," he calls out softly, and Jarvis complies. The room brightens just enough for Tony to make out colors.  
  
He smiles, brushing his fingers over Steve's hair. Steve still looks exhausted, but he's breathing deeply, and Tony can't help but feel a smug, possessive comfort at that. _I did that,_ he thinks, _I make him feel safe. He's all mine_. The thought settles hot in his stomach, firing up all his nerves. _All mine. And I'm all his._ It's a good feeling.  
  
He stays like that for a few more minutes, just letting the moment sink into him, then makes himself slide down the covers and get out of bed, quietly so as not to wake Steve. He pads over the floor to his closet and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbing his phone again on the way. He stops at the doorway for one last look at the man in his bed, then heads downstairs.  
  
He'll make coffee while he checks email on his phone, replying to anything urgent. He'll watch the sun turn the ocean orange and gold and wake up the dewy grass outside. He'll leave Rhodey a message about a couple ideas he has for his armor—after all, War Machine deserves some special tricks of his own. He'll send Fury a text: _so, this Avengers Initiative. I'm in, but only as a packaged set._  
  
And after that, he'll take two cups upstairs, and watch the news while Steve sleeps beside him.  
  
Tony swallows down a giddy smile. It's such a stupid, simple feeling, the way even just thinking about Steve sets his body humming. It's been a long time since he was in love like this, and he forgot what it felt like, every circuit in his body open and charged. Full. And the best part is that it's Steve on the other side. There's no one else Tony would rather have.


End file.
